


Shining in the Sun

by micehell



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, TOKIO
Genre: M/M, Non-AU (for once! DASH village setting), mildly sexed up fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-28
Updated: 2010-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:06:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hot and tired and cranky, Gussan thought, <i>fuck it</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shining in the Sun

Title, appropriately if freakily enough, from Don Henley's _Boys of Summer_.

~*~

"There was the time Taichi almost got blown up." Gussan half-heartedly waved his fan at the small fire he had going in the pit. He really should tend it better, the thought of ramen making his stomach rumble, but he was too hot and sweaty and cranky to welcome the extra heat needed.

"Even Taichi thought that was funny, though, and he was fine." Nagase didn't even look up, laid out in the shade by the open door, shirt rucked up his chest, socks off and pants rolled up, trying to catch a non-existent breeze. If the VJ had still been filming (instead of hiding out in the air conditioned van, pretending to do technical things while waiting for the others to come back, but really just taking an extra long lunch out of the heat), he'd have been catching more of Nagase's body than he'd readily shown onscreen since the late 90s.

"There was the time Joshima almost died on that Russian mountain." Even talking was making him tired, enervated by what August apparently thought was an appropriate temperature. A wave of heat from the fire washed over him, wiping him out, and he thought, _fuck the ramen, fuck the fire, fuck August and its fucking wrong ideas about appropriate temperatures_. He wondered if maybe he had some hidden superpower that would let him make it be fall already. He tried to concentrate really hard, to will the air cooler with the potential power of his brain. He thought, _fuck that shit, too_ , when all it did was make him hotter.

"Leader almost killed himself getting over the railing in the parking lot at that restaurant yesterday. I don't think you can really hate DASH for that." Nagase was lying still, but the sweat pouring off of him was in perpetual motion, rolling down the hills and valleys of his chest and belly to pool on the wooden slats below, staining the dark wood of the village house black in the shadows.

Not that Gussan was noticing that, nor the curve of Nagase's neck and back as he lazily arched them, trying to keep from sticking to the floor. All he was thinking was _fuck DASH and their idea of safety in filming_. "Then how about this winter when Mabo and Joshima almost got crushed by a giant snowball, 'cause that was so important to film. Or the eight million times you or I have wound up with strained muscles or near heat stroke because they thought it would be funny if we ran a marathon or biked across half the country? That scar on your arm that the makeup people eventually gave up trying to cover because it was too thick and dark and showed even through pancake, does that ring a bell? It's all pointless. I hate the show, and I don't know why you're defending it, when you're not even on it more than a guest appearance every ten months or so anymore."

Nagase didn't answer this time, but he did finally move, rolling to his side to look at Gussan. His eyes were dark in the shade, the tilt of them more pronounced, exotic, but Gussan wasn't noticing that, either. He was too hot and too tired after fifteen years of being expected to do things that kept landing on the wrong side of reasonable. He wondered if he had some hidden superpower that would put him on a board on the beach at Chiba, water and light and wind all he could see and feel.

He didn't try, still smarting from his last flirtation with superpowers, and because Nagase was still looking at him, part reproach and part amusement, and both of them hit Gussan hard in the chest, those eyes always his kryptonite. Irritated at the weakness, just like always, he thought, _fuck complicated looks, too_.

Sometimes far too able to read Gussan's thoughts, a superpower he'd had since he was a child, Nagase just laughed and shook his head. "I like the show because it's fifteen years of our lives. Because it's fun when it's finished filming. Because even though I'm not on it much, you almost always are."

Nagase pushed himself up at that, swinging around long legs that could be graceful or gangly by turns, by mood, fluid power now as he stood. One rolled-up pants leg held against gravity, hiked up above a knobbly knee, showing the long line of calf below, but the other leg fell, winding up caught against the almost elegant ankle below, like a peek-a-boo tease. The rucked-up shirt started to follow, the weight of cotton and sweat pulling at it, but Nagase caught it, using the hem to take it off altogether. Chest bare now, nipples hard and wet from the heat, from the look he was now giving Gussan. Amusement was still in it, but the reproach was replaced by something that hit Gussan even harder.

Draping the shirt around his neck, tugging it back and forth like a towel, Nagase finally looked away, out the open door into a world gone hazy with August. "There was the time when Taichi called and said they wouldn't be done before 3, and that Aoki had promised them sushi for lunch afterwards. And there was the time when there was no way Harada was coming out of the van before they got back. And there was the time when the wheelroom was cool because of the stream, and that it had a latch on the door. Those were all times I really liked the show, too."

Nagase might have been trying for cool as he left, but Gussan doubted it, not with the way his fingers fumbled with his shoes, and the giggle that he let loose as he gave Gussan one last glance before heading out, hips swinging in an exaggerated arc, on a path that led directly to the wheelroom. Gussan thought that he was a ridiculously oversized child, easily amused and easily pleased, easily _touched_ , and shining in the late summer sun. Gussan scrambled to get his own shoes on, thinking, _I love DASH and the lack of safety, and I love Aoki for taking the others to lunch and Harada for being too lazy to come out of the van_. He reached the wheelroom, felt a wash of cool air, and then a wash of heat as he saw Nagase, pants unbuttoned, dick hard and thick and wrapped in those long, long fingers, and giving Gussan that same look he had eight million times before. Gussan just had time to think, _fuck Nagase_ , before he couldn't think at all.

/story


End file.
